


and then it hit me

by minnehockey



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017-2018 NHL Season, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Chirping, Connor McDavid texts in full sentences with punctuation, Face Punching, Friends to Lovers, Hockey as a form of affection, Injury Recovery, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Tumblr Prompt, boys with emotions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2019-06-19 21:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15518835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minnehockey/pseuds/minnehockey
Summary: “What the hell was that?” Nuge asked as he walked past.“Never thought I’d see Toronto so mad at you.” Strome added quietly.“It was stupid,” Connor mumbled, feeling the whole rooms eyes on him. “He’d been on me all night and that dirty shove into the boards was, well, it was all I could take.”“Marner?” Leon questioned, finally speaking.“What?”“Davo, Marner wasn’t the one who shoved you.”“McDavid. Come on back and get that hand checked out,” one of the trainers called out from the doorway.“Yeah, I know, it wa-,” Connor exclaimed.“McDavid. Trainers’ room,”“Connor...who do you think you dropped the gloves on?”“Not kidding, cap, get out here.”“Reilly. 44. He’d been on me all-” Connor paused, connecting the dots. “Shit.”alternatively: I accidentally punched you in the face when I was trying to punch a different guy in the face and I am so sorry





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> prompt creds to dailyau on tumblr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is unbetaed and my first story in ages, constructive criticism welcome!

Connor tried to keep his cool, he swears. Down by three in the final minute on the tail end of another failed East Coast road trip, however, his patience was wearing a bit thin. 

Trying to get the puck back up to Looch, who was positioned at the edge of the circle, he glanced down at the puck in his feet. In that second there was a solid shove to his back, pushing Connor headfirst in the boards. 

While attempting the push himself back up, Connor’s pretty sure he heard a whistle blown. However, every nearby skater collapsed in on him and the defenseman who cross checked him was now half on top his head. Connor thrashed until he broke free, missing his helmet, to stand in the middle of the scrum. More whistles.

He was surrounded by a sea of blue and white, still out of breath and fuming. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a skater, that fucking defenseman again, trying to grab onto Leon’s jersey and pull him back. 

“What are you fucking trying to do?” He yelled, pushing his stick into the players arm. “Fucking get off my back you shit!” 

Leon began to turn back towards his captain, just as Connor’s stick clattered to the ground, followed by his gloves.

“Davo, wh-” Leon exclaimed in shock, letting go of the Leafs skater.

Connor’s fist connected with the player’s face, right under the visor, sending shocks up his arm.

“BENCH. NOW MCDAVID, BEFORE YOU GET FUCKING SUSPENDED,” a ref called out over the uproar from the fans.

-

Playing in the ACC was always loud. Like, really fucking loud. Currently, though, it was on another level. Mitch felt like a deafening crack of thunder had just erupted from his skull. His ears were ringing and he was suddenly in a heap on the ground, head throbbing. 

“Mitchy?” Mo’s question sounded muffled and distant as his blurrily coming into Mitch’s view. “Mitchy, what happened?”

“Oh god,” Mitch groaned, taking his hand away from his face and finding the white palm of his glove stained red.

“-trainer-” 

“Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.” Mitch babbled, pushing himself to sit up and feeling another rush of blood gush down his face. 

“-out-”

Another throb caused Mitch to slump down, fighting the urge to lie on the ice. 

“Hey Marner, we’re gonna get you outta here, sound good?”

Two pairs of arms pulled Mitch to his feet, a chorus of stick taps and applause accompanied the ringing in his head. As he was skated over the bench, someone pressing a towel to his face and instructing him to hold pressure to it.

After being transferred to a trainer and supported down the hallway, Mitch collapsed back onto the exam table. 

“Ah, ah, back up mister,” the team doctor, Dr. Fortner? Forman? helped Mitch push himself up to sitting. “Gotta get that blood to drain.”

He passed Mitch a new towel, throwing the old one in the fancy red biohazard trash can Mitch had been staring at. 

“I’m gonna ask you a few questions, do you think you can handle that?”

-

Even with McDavid receiving a match penalty and having gone down the guest tunnel, Lucic facing five and following his captain to the locker room, with only one Leafs player having to leave for fighting, booing continued as the clock wound down. A few dirty hits later and one last extracurricular after the horn, and both teams were forced to shuffle of the ice. 

Once the entire team was in the locker room, minus Mitch, there was an unspoken damper on post-game celebrations. No one wanted to jinx it, so most of the Leafs remained sat in their lockers, half undressed and silent. 

“He’s just been taken to St. Michael’s.,” Babs broke the silence as he entered the dressing room. “Possible mild concussion, broken nose.”

“Fucking McDavid,” someone muttered, while others shook their heads.

“Canada’s golden boy my ass.”

“Get some sleep,” Babs cut off his team. “Optional in the morning.”

Mo was the first out of his stall. “We’ll know more tomorrow. Leave the anger on the ice.”

-

“No media for you tonight,” one of the PR team members said, while passing Connor quickly, presumably to a replacement for him.

Connor looked up from his skates, “I’m, I’m the captain. I’ve got to represent the team. I’m fi-”

“Not my decision. Just following instructions.”

“But, list-”

“Not tonight.”

Just then, the team started filing into the locker room, looking even more tired than when Connor had left them.

“What the hell was that?” Nuge asked as he walked past. 

“Never thought I’d see Toronto so mad at you.” Strome added quietly.

“It was stupid,” Connor mumbled, feeling the whole rooms eyes on him. “He’d been on me all night and that dirty shove into the boards was, well, it was all I could take.”

“Marner?” Leon questioned, finally speaking.

“What?” 

“Davo, Marner wasn’t the one who shoved you.”

“McDavid. Come on back and get that hand checked out,” one of the trainers called out from the doorway.

“Yeah, I know, it wa-,” Connor exclaimed.

“McDavid. Trainers’ room,”

“Connor...who do you think you dropped the gloves on?”

“Not kidding, cap, get out here.”

“Reilly. 44. He’d been on me all-” Connor paused, connecting the dots. “Shit.”

-

Mitch was finally released at around two in the morning, his mother equipped with a familiar stack of papers warning of future symptoms that could indicate a concussion. 

Some pain pills, three melted ice packs, and one nose reset later, Mitch was mildly drugged up and more than mildly tired, nearly dozing off in the passenger seat of his mom’s car.

“Did, did we…” Mitch tried to open his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it sweetie. Let's get you home, alright?”

“Mmm,” Mitch hummed, leaning back against the headrest. 

-

Connor spent the entirety of the plane ride back to Edmonton thinking about if he should reach out, and if so, how.

Phone calls were not really his generations thing, but a text didn’t feel right either. 

To make matters worse, he didn’t even have a recent message thread with Mitch. Their friendship had gone pretty much radio silent, but, to be fair, it had been an seemingly mutual accident. Connor swears he had meant to connect with Mitch, sometime during the offseason, but he’d had so many media commitments scheduled, both with the team and brands, and then he’d had Biosteel and, well, the point is he hadn’t reached out.

It’s not like Mitch hadn’t been busy too. He’d posted all over Instagram about Worlds and his vacation afterwards. Not to mention the snap stories that Connor had watched all summer, of him going to baseball games, and laughing with teammates at weddings and parties. Mitch had a whole new life. 

Fuck, it had really been that long. The plane finally touched down and Connor turned on his phone. Ignoring the incoming messages, presumably from his parents and the Otters group chat, he instead gave in and sent a quick text to Mitch.

-

It took a few minutes for Mitch to wake up enough and realize that he was not back in his apartment, but instead was staring up at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom. Still groggy, he shuffled down towards the kitchen, but stopped when he heard hushed voices.

“-it was so unlike him. I know it’s a rough sport, I'm not naive, but he’s known that boy since juniors.”

“I’m sure they’re not as close as the draft, Bonnie. And I don’t think Connor knew it was Mitch,” his dad’s voice came from the bottom of the stairs.

“It sure looked like he was aiming for him.”

Suddenly, the rest of last night came back to Mitch. The chippy game. Connor. The hospital. The dull throb in his nose. 

“He’s going to be fine.”

“I, I know. It’s just-” There was a pause, and Mitch sucked in a breathe, feeling like a little kid eavesdropping. “They had to scrape his blood off the ice. He couldn’t get up. I thought, I thought he wasn’t going to for a second there.”

Mitch swallowed, then, deciding he had heard enough, finished climbing down the stairs.

“Hey champ. Rocking the double shiners,” his dad comments as Mitch enters the kitchen.

Spotting his phone on the counter, Mitch ignored the notifications and instead opened the camera. 

“Shit.”

“Language.” His mom sighed, pulling plates from the cupboard. 

“Uh-huh,” Mitch partially acknowledged her comment, continuing to look at the purple rings under his eyes and surrounding his nose. He opened up his messages to find the team group chat full of new messages, one from his brother, another from Dylan and a few from other OHL buddies. What caught his eye was the newest message:

**Davo: Facetime?**

“Lucky you, they got it all back in place. No surgery, hopefully,” his dad smiles then, scooping scrambled eggs out of the pan and onto three plates. “Breakfast before we hit the road?”

“Huh?”

“Hopefully you’re a little more alive once we get some food in you. Come on and sit, then I’ll bring you back to the rink.”

-

“You’re out next game, league policy, but I’ll expect you to be with the team for pregame, and be back down in the locker room after,” McLellan started as Connor shut his office door the next morning. 

“Yes, coach,” Connor shifted his weight, feeling more like a kid than an NHL captain. 

“You wanna tell me what happened out there?”

“I lost my temper. It won’t happen again.”

“Good,” McLellan said with a straight face, “then you’ll be all set to talk to the media scrum after practice. I’ll see you on the ice in fifteen minutes.”

Connor bolted, barely hearing the door shut before he took off down the hallway. 

A few other players had arrived since Connor had left the locker room, but they were too wrapped up in their own conversations at the moment. His phone still sat in his locker, but only flashed his lock screen background when he turned it on. No response.

“They letting you skate with the big boys today, or are you gonna throw another temper tantrum?” Looch chirped, pulling on his skates.

“Need some pointers from us old goons?” Maroon laughed, throwing an arm around Connor’s shoulders. 

“Hey, I landed a pretty solid punch,” Connor tried to play along, but frowned, instantly regretting it. Now it sounded like he had _wanted_ to punch Mitch.

Sensing the shift, Lucic backtracked. “Hey, have you heard from him at all? You guys were pretty inseparable at one point or another right?”

“Uh yeah, but no, no he hasn’t said anything.”

“Ten minutes and you’re all on the ice!” Coach Gulutzan yelled from the hall.

Connor sighed, rushing to pull on his pads and ignore the concerned looks from the goon squad.

Practice went alright, but Connor’s head wasn’t in it. McLellan pulled him aside afterwards and told him to pull himself together, and Connor tried to rally for media and tape review after, but he wasn’t pulling his weight as a captain and it felt like the team was starting to sense it. 

After the reporters were finally gone, with as few words from Connor about the fight and his one-game suspension, his teammates didn’t try to pull him into lunch or pranking the AHL call ups. Instead, they sat through one of the least productive tape sessions Connor had had this season, until they were dismissed. 

His personal issues were interfering with the team dynamic. His team’s dynamic.

Fortunately, he opened his messages to find an equally short text in response from Mitch:

**Marns: tonight?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the hit is based loosely off [this hit by Hamhuis on McDavid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jcWcaIDuSxQ&t=0s&list=PLeeT_ErCB-K44m3UiAv4INAdJ-Guxp7o_&index=2)
> 
> follow me on Tumblr ([@minnehockey](https://minnehockey.tumblr.com/))  
> if you'd like! I'll try and post about future updates and such.


	2. Chapter 2

Connor paced his apartment for the better part of the evening, only having been able to distract himself with videogames and dicking around on his phone for a few hours.

Finally, after he’d forced himself to pull out a meal-plan-approved chicken dish out of the fridge, microwave it, and finish it off, Mitch’s name popped up on his phone screen, requesting to FaceTime.

He scrambled to answer it, then blurted, “I didn’t mean to punch you!”

“It sure felt like you meant to!”

“Fuck. I’m not sure what to say,” Connor groaned.

“I mean, an explanation would be nice!” Mitch paused, recalculating. “Sorry, sorry, I’m not mad. Okay, I’m a little mad. My face hurts like a motherfucker. But really, what the fuck dude?”

“I didn’t know it was you?”

“You didn’t know it was me? That's it?”

“Uh, yeah.” Connor sighed, looking at the pixelated, but very clearly bruised image of Mitch staring back at him.

“Connor. You don’t fight.”

“I know.”

“And you don’t get suspended.”

“I know.”

“So, what the hell?”

“I don’t know!”

“We’re going in circles here Davo!” Mitch exclaimed, the nickname slipping out.

“I don’t have an excuse. It’s just...we’re on this losing streak, and usually that doesn’t get to me, but then your defensemen were all over me and all over my teammates, playing dirty,” Connor ran his hand through his hair, “And I just wanted to do something.”

“Like punch me.”

“Apparently.”

“Well, shit. That’s fucked up, man.”

“If it helps, I’m sorry about your face,” Connor supplied, then immediately tried to backtrack. “Wait, wait, fuck, n-”

“I get it, you hate my face so much, you had to punch me,” Mitch smiles, thankfully not offended.

“Your face is fine.”

“Fine?”

“Nice. Normal. Whatever,” Connor stumbled over his words, his face heating.

Mitch’s expression changed and Connor couldn’t read him anymore. “Hey, Connor?”

“Yeah, Mitch?”

“Why’d we stop talking?”

“Fuck if I know.”

“Oh, uh, good.”

“Let’s, uh, not do that again?”

“The punching or the silence?” Mitch tried to tease, but had a feeling it fell flat.

Connor laughed anyway. “Both.”

“Okay.”

There was another long pause, and Mitch looked around his room.

“Did it hurt?”

Mitch’s eyes snapped back to the screen, “What?”

“Did it hurt?” Connor repeated, “The…” He motioned vaguely towards Mitch,and it finally connected.

“Oh, uh yeah, a lot,” Mitch squeaked. “Sorry I, um, it sounded like that, uh, that stupid pick up line Dylan always tried to use.”

“Oh. Ha. Right,” Connor choked out. 

“Listen, we’re cool, right?”

“Of course!” Connor exclaimed, still a little hung up on the memories of the three of them hanging out.

“Right. Right. Okay, well then,” Mitch scrambled for the right words. “Don’t be a stranger, eh?”

“Goodnight, Marns.”

“Night, Davo.”

The call ended and Connor stared a his home screen for a couple of seconds. It was all so...messed up. And mostly his fault. 

A notification from his thread with Stromer appeared at the top of the screen, and he clicked on it without really thinking. The new message was one of two that Connor had missed from him, the first from last night.

**Dyls: just heard u ok?**

**Dyls: probs busy but text me whenever**

Despite having ignored all of his other texts, Connor responded without thinking.

**I’ve been better. Just talked to Mitch.**

**Dyls: shit whatd he say**

**Not much, I guess. He was confused, but didn’t seem too mad.**

**Dyls: so what happened?**

**I lost my temper.**

**Dyls: havent seen that since the o, that sauga player**

**Dyls: sucks that it was marns tho**

**Yeah. It’s pretty fucked up.**

**Dyls: u gonna keep talking to him**

**Dyls: ?**

Connor types out a message, just to delete it once he sees Stromer type again.

**Dyls: he missed u i think**

Connor almost typed out that he missed Mitch too, but he settled for a quick goodbye and a promise to FaceTime tomorrow afternoon. 

God, he’d messed everything up with Mitch. Even before the game. And it was still messed up now, even if Stromer was too concerned to mention it directly. 

-

The next morning, Mitch was sat in yet another trainers’ room, this time at the practice rink. It was eerily familiar to the one at the ACC, especially thanks to the damned biohazard trash can.

Man, fuck biohazard trash cans.

“Alright it looks like you’re in the clear on the concussion front, but again keep me posted if anything changes,” the head doctor recited, not looking up from Mitch’s files. “You’re going to have to have to play with a full mask, otherwise I don’t see any reason why you can’t join the team.”

Mitch’s eyes lit up. He never thought he’d see the day he was excited to wear a fishbowl again.

“This should help the swelling,” he went on. “But let me know if you have any changes with this as well. Bleeding, sharp pain, dizziness, anything out of the ordinary.”

“Sounds good!” Mitch exclaimed, probably sounding a little overly enthusiastic. After a day of lounging around while his teammates skated, and then a pity lunch with Mo, who still felt pretty guilty, he was ready to get back to work.

The rest of the team was already on the ice when Mitch got back to the locker room, so he snapped a quick selfie in his new headgear for his family group chat, and then on a whim sent it to Connor.

On the bench, he was greeted with a few whoops and chirps from the players waiting for drills. Matts skated over and tapped Mitch’s stick and Brownie gave him a friendly shove, causing him to grin. 

“Glad to have you back Bubble Boy!” Marty called out, joining the small cluster at the bench. 

Mitch cracked up, ignored the ache in his nose. “You’re not gonna stop until this is off, aren’t you.”

“Maybe even after, Bubbles.”

“Weak.”

“It’s good to have you back,” Marty smiled, before being interrupted by a whistle across ice. “Ah, that’s me,” he called over his shoulder, already skating away.

-

After pushing himself in practice, trying to make up for the lost day and show the team he was back for good, Mitch was just thankful he could peel himself out his equipment and take a well-deserved shower. A few other teammates stopped him in the hallway, along with an assistant trainer to check in. It wasn’t until he was sitting in the parking lot that he got a chance to check his phone.

**Missed Calls from Davo (2)**

They had agreed to talk, but Mitch wondered if something had happened. Throwing his phone into the passenger seat, he pulled out of his parking space, still a little distracted.

Mitch couldn’t remember most of his drive home as he unlocked his apartment and flopped onto the couch. His curiosity got the best of him, but he opted for FaceTime. A few seconds later, Connor’s face popped on the screen, blurry as he walked around.

“Hey, what’s up?” Mitch asked cautiously, still not used to hearing from Connor this often.

“Oh, yeah, uh, one second.” There was the sound of a door shutting and he watched as Connor laid back on his bed. “Alright, I’m here.”

Mitch waited for him to talk, eventually prompting, “You called?”

“Right,” Connor scratched at the back his neck, adjusting his position. “I, um. Listen, I wanted to talk to you again, cause, well. I want you to know that I didn’t just call you yesterday because of the, uh, incident. I wanted to talk to you again. I missed you. God, I’ve wanted to talk to you for so long.” He let out a breath and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He'd just gotten off of a call with Dylan about this, how was it so much harder to say all of a sudden?

“Hey, you still texted me about stuff.”

“Not really. I treated you like, like you didn’t mean anything, I guess,” Connor fidgeted. “I don’t want to just text you about highlight reel shit and records every month or so.”

“No?”

“Er, no.”

“Sounds good.”

“Sounds good?” 

“Bro, Connor,” Mitch sighed, “We can’t change what happened, but it’s not all on you. You promised to keep in touch and you’re doing pretty well so far.”

“Yeah?”

“And,” Mitch leaned his head onto the pillow next to him, “I’ve missed you too, for the record.”

Connor shifted, trying to hide the fact that he was blushing.

“You wanna watch a movie together, something stupid and old?” Mitch laughed, ready to move on from their previous topic. 

“Sure Marns, let's do that.”

Connor let Mitch talk him into watching The Night at the Museum, but in all honesty he would have probably agreed to almost anything. Mitch preceded to do a big countdown so they could start both movies at the same time, and after hysterically laughing, and five more attempts, they finally had the opening timed right. 

Besides a couple initial jokes, Connor quieted down. Mitch spent most of the movie glancing down at his phone, watching Connor’s reactions. One particular scene, something with the tiny Roman and cowboy, caused Connor to fall into a fit of giggles, and Mitch couldn’t help but smile.

The first movie led into a short discussion of whether or not to watch the sequel, and once they started it Mitch paid even less attention to the TV. They chatted about anything and everything, catching up quickly on what they’d missed. Mitch couldn’t stop smiling as Connor described all of the misadventures he’d had his rookie year in a unfamiliar city and he in turn traded stories from his own rookie year. They both paused to grab some food, resuming the movie while complaining about all the bland pre-made meals. At some point, Connor’s eyes began to droop, leaving Mitch to watch the rest of the movie.

This was good, Mitch decided. There was still over 2,000 kilometers between them, but Mitch really had missed this. Missed them. 

As the credits rolled, Mitch looked down to see Connor now sound asleep. He looked so much younger like this, as cliche as that sounded. Less stressed. Mitch sighed and ended the call, pulling himself up to take a couple more of the pills from the trainer and get ready for bed. He hadn’t felt any pain all afternoon, but his face felt like it had swelled up a bit in the past couple hours and a quick check in the bathroom mirror confirmed his suspicions. 

Once he’d run through his short routine, Mitch shuffled into his room, pulled on some threadbare sweatpants from the O, and climbed under the covers, curling in on himself, feeling lighter than he had in awhile.

-

Connor started game day by addressing the team in the dressing room. He wasn’t much of a vocal leader, but due to what Nursey had dubbed “Baby’s First Suspension,” he felt the need to explain himself. 

After what he hoped came across apologetic, yet motivational, speech (if that's a thing), he mostly tried to stay out of everyone's way. He was almost relieved once he could head up to press box.

To give his team credit, they held their own against the Sharks the whole first period. He hadn’t been up here since his injury, so it felt a bit odd watching them play without him, and he felt even more out of place walking into the locker room at the period break.

They’d kept it 0-0, and had some decent chances. Coach pointed out a couple avoidable fumbles, but not much else, and left Connor standing by the door.

“Hey Davo!” Nuge called out. “How’re we looking?”

“Decent. But you know that,” Connor smiled, attempting to shake his previous feelings of awkwardness.

“Missing some goon power out there,” Looch chirped, looking up from taping his stick.

Connor just shook his head, looking down at his feet. 

“Got it cap,” Jesse grinned. “We play for you. You rest up.”

And while it wasn’t the Oilers prettiest win, they did manage to hold a lead and finish the game off 2-1. 

Before leaving the press box, Connor remembered Mitch mentioned an away game in Buffalo. Pulling up the box score, he almost laughed out loud. 1-0, with Mitch opening the scoring. Although he couldn’t watch the highlight now, he made a mental note to look it up once he got home. 

Ever since Connor had met Mitch, some part of him wondered what it would be like to have him on his team. On his wing, even. What kind of chemistry they might have.

Not that he would change anything. Connor had worked for everything he’d earned, same as Mitch.

Still, Connor couldn't help himself from occasionally wondering. Now, with everything that had happened, those thoughts were at the forefront again. Ever since they’d been little, their hockey careers had been like passing ships. Maybe, if they both missed the playoffs one year and got to play in the World Cup or if the league let them play in the Olympics, they'd finally get to play together. Maybe.

However, Connor knew one tournament wouldn’t put an end to his thoughts. 

He wanted to spend long bus rides together in Juniors. He wanted to have inside jokes and stalls next to each other in the locker room. He wanted to celebrate goals with him. Console each other after losses.

But Mitch had Toronto. He had his hometown. He had a chance at the playoffs this year. 

And Connor had his team. They’d trusted him enough to make him captain.

Neither of them was going anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for such positive responses to the first chapter!
> 
> i'd love to answer asks on tumblr ([@minnehockey](https://minnehockey.tumblr.com/)) or chat in the comments below :)


	3. Chapter 3

Mitch got a Snapchat message from Connor while he was dicking around on his phone on a hotel room balcony in Anaheim. They were in full playoff-push mode, chasing Boston and Tampa in the standings, which meant he was soaking up any down time he had. 

**Davo: How’s the face?**

Mitch sent him back a picture of his face, the bruises now even darker.

**I swear it hurts less now**

**Davo: Could have fooled me.**

**Davo: Watched your goal in Buffalo. Pretty backhand move.**

**Ha I’ve been dying to use it in a game**

**You watched the game?**

**Davo: Boxscore and then highlights later. Not much more I could do in the press box.**

Maybe Connor had always kept up with the Leafs. After all, old habits die hard. Even so, Mitch couldn’t help but feel like Connor had gone out of his way to pay attention. Not just to his childhood team, but to Mitch.

**Davo: Is that weird?**

**I don’t think so otherwise me checking on the oilers would be**

Mitch watched the typing bubble pop up, then disappear a few times.

**Davo: Good.**

After that the conversation devolved into them both sending back increasingly less relevant photos. The view from Mitch’s balcony. Connor’s pouty face and his plate of chicken something-or-other. Mitch laughing at said chicken.

“Mitchy?” Matt calls out, sliding open the balcony door.

“Geez!” Mitch yelps. “You almost made me fall out of my chair.”

“Jumpy today?” Marty chuckles. “Come back inside n’ nap.”

“Fine, dad.”

“Hey, who told me to make sure he took a pregame nap?” 

“Whatever.”

“What were you up to anyways?”

“Just Snapchat.” Mitch’s face heated.

“Oooooh, anyone is particular?” Marty smirked, shutting the door behind them.

“That’s it. Naptime.” Mitch barely escaped Marty’s attempt at a headlock.

“I’m your father! I should know these things!” Marty laughed as Mitch turned off the lights.

“Ugh!” Mitch exclaimed, face planting the bed.

“Sleep well, Bubbles.”

“I’m not even weari-, you know what, fine.” 

Matt laughed again, happy to push Mitch’s buttons.

-

Facing a decent-length homestand and desperate for a little additional team chemistry, Connor had organized a mandatory team dinner. It was a little last minute, but Connor felt like it was a good idea. 

Well, correction, he had felt like it was good idea. Up until he had pulled his phone out.  
Before he could even check the notifications, Nursey snatched it out of his hands and tossed it towards to middle of the table. “Alright everyone, you know the drill,” Nursey grinned, pulling his own phone out of his pocket and setting it face up next to Connor’s. A chorus of groans erupted, particularly from the end of the table with the rookies.

Somehow Connor had managed to forget their ongoing bet deciding who footed the bill. And now, he was on track to pay for each one of these fuckers meals, unless one of them broke and took their phone from the middle.

“Who you expecting a text from?” Nursey questioned, feigning casualness as he sipped his water. “Anyone...special?”

“Ha,” Connor forced out loudly, drawing the attention of Leon who was sitting across from them.

“What are we intergotatting Davo about?” 

Connor blurted out “nothing!” at the same time that Nursey laughed. “Just checking in to see if there’s anyone we should know about.”

“That’s true. He never checks his phone at team dinners,” Nuge interjected, being no help whatsoever.

Connor had never wished as hard for a server to appear carrying food than in that moment. Not even that time where he had forgotten a lunch for the bus as a kid and been too scared to ask his new teammates for extras and had to wait until dinner that night.

But, because the universe hates him, the only thing that happened was his phone screen lit up with a new notification.

Both Nursey and Nuge glanced down.

“MARNS?” Nursey exclaimed, looking from the phone to Connor. “You were checking your phone at a team dinner for Marner?”

Connor felt his face heat, feeling the attention of the majority of the table now on him. “Uh, yeah, I guess?” The table remained silent and he looked up to see an expression of calculation on Leon’s face and utter shock on both Nuge’s and Nursey’s. “What?”

“You’ve never broken the dinner rule, bro.” Nursey states, expression unchanged.

“This really isn’t a big deal, I mean so wh-”

“No, Davo. You’ve only paid for dinner out of captain’s duty or some shit.”

“Yeah. Plus, you punched this guy in the face,” Nuge supplies. “Not even a week ago.”

“We’re friends?” Connor replied weakly.

“One hell of a friendship, you got there,” Nursey said after a pause. Most of the table had gone back to their previous conversations or had at least pretended to.

“It’s a little…” Connor hesitated as Leon met his eyes. “Complicated, I guess.” 

After that, they all made it through dinner with minimal mishaps. Connor called it pretty quickly once everyone was finished, with a game tomorrow and all that. Most of the players were happy to head home as soon as possible, but Leon lingered as Connor paid the bill. 

“Everything okay with you?” 

Connor looked up, already half expecting this conversation. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“No, I mean, you and Mitch.”

“Yeah, what about us?” Connor deflected, busying himself with putting his card back in his wallet.

“It’s just, you talked about him a lot rookie year,” Leon said cautiously. “After that, not at all.”

“And?” 

“Now he’s back in your life, sending you snaps and texts during dinner.”

Connor stood up, know Leon would follow him.

“Did you guys reconnect after the whole, uh, suspension?”

“We talked.”

“And you’re still talking?” Leon continued, holding the front door open, a blast of cold air hitting both of them.

Connor sighed. “Yeah, Drai, we’re still talking.”

“Okay, just, uh, you know you can talk about this kind of stuff with me. Or Nursey. Or whoever.”

Connor couldn’t help but make a face at the thought of explaining him and Mitch with Nursey. “Sure, man. I’ll let you know if we decide to take our friendship to the next level and get matching tattoos,” Connor said defensively, unlocking his car.

“I’m serious, Connor.” 

“Night,” Connor called, only feeling mildly bad as he shut his door. Not wanting to give Leon more ammo to use against him, Connor fought the urge to finally check his notifications and left his phone firmly in his coat pocket as he drove away.

-

Mitch was laying on Auston’s couch, staring up at the ceiling, when he finally blurted out, “Hey Matts?”

“Yeah, Mitchy?”

“How close are you with the guys you played with before?”

“Depends. Who are we talking?” 

Mitch shifted, holding himself on his elbows to see Auston still scrolling through his phone.

“I don’t know. No one in particular.”

“Well, then, I guess it depends.”

“What about people you played against?”

“Bro, is this about McDavid?”

Mitch flopped back down, sighing. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

“Listen,” Auston clicked his phone shut. “I’m definitely not the best one to go to on this. Guys from the O are fucking weird, b-”

“You’re fucking weird,” Mitch retorted, finally sitting up. 

“Weak. But, as I was saying, I don’t think it matters. You guys were friends right?”

“Yes?”

“And you still want to be?”

“Yeah, Auston I don’t see h-”

“Then what does it matter? You were friends, you’re friends again now.”

Yeah, I guess.”

“What? Has he been a dick about the fight?”

Mitch shook his head, still unsure. “It didn’t work last time, you know? We went from super close to barely talking in a couple month.”

“That was different. You were rookies. You’ve grown up since then. Well, at least he has. You’re still twelve.”

“Not cool, bro!” Mitch exclaimed, chucking a throw pillow in Matts’ direction, but missing by a wide margin.

“You could always ask him?”

“Ask him?”

“About what happened. If it’s bugging you,” Auston shrugged. “Sound good?”

“Yeah, man. Er, thanks.”

“No problem. Wanna play some Chel?”

-

That night Mitch had gone back to his apartment early, packing for their early flight and then crashing. By the time he was free the next day, after a plane ride to Detroit and practice, he was too late to catch catch Connor before his game against Calgary. The next day was full of prep for his own game, with a late flight back to Toronto. 

Finally, the day after their win against the Red Wings, Mitch worked up the courage to shoot a text to Connor, asking to FaceTime. 

**Davo: I’m free all afternoon.**

**Sweet! Just finished weights**

**Davo: Call when you get home?**

Mitch sent back a string of thumbs up emojis, then rushed through the showers and Toronto traffic as fast as he could. 

“Okay, okay, I’m here now!” Mitch panted, trying to catch his breath.

“I see that,” Connor smiled. “You wanted to talk?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Okay...let’s talk.”

“Right, well, I-know-we’re-friends-again-and-that’s-great-but-I-just-wanna-know-what-happened?” Mitch blurted.

“Mitch…”

“Like, did I do something? Were we not as close as I thought?” Mitch continued, running his hand through his hair.

“Woah, Mitch, where is this coming from?” Connor questioned, eyes filled with concern.

“I just,” Mitch sighed. “This is embarrassing.”

“It’s not. You,” Connor paused. “You deserve an answer. You deserved an answer right after stopped talking, but even more now.” Connor looks down at his phone, wishing he wasn’t here, that he was there. That he could talk to Mitch in person and hear from him in person how he was feeling. “It was hard to talk to you rookie year.”

“Hard to talk to me? Why?”

“It’s...complicated. I wanted to talk to you. I missed you,” Connor blushes. “Leon pointed out today that I talked about you _a lot_.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. We were close. And then, things got complicated. I got injured and you were busy tearing up the O for one more year. But, these are excuses.”

“It makes sense, Connor. Really, I’m just glad we’re friends again.”

“No, it’s not okay. I kept up with Stromer. I should have with you, too.”

“That’s not fair. I wasn’t being fair by asking you. It’s not like I reached out either,” Mitch acknowledged. 

“It felt different,” Connor continued. “With you.”

“Same...I’m just not sure what that means.”

“Me neither.”

-

April arrived and Mitch and Connor talked everyday without fail. They didn’t, however, talk about their earlier conversation or how Mitch’s season was guaranteed to be longer than Connor’s. At least, they didn’t talk about the second one until Connor brought it up, at least indirectly.

“So this offseason?” Connor asked, part way through a call with Mitch on his way home from the rink.

“Yeah, what about it?” Mitch’s voice sounded from Connor’s car speakers.

“I was thinking, after Worlds, I’d come back to Toronto?”

“Yeah?” 

“I’m not sure what your plans are training-wise, but I thought maybe we could train together? Hang out a bit before I have to come back?”

“Totally!”

“Really?” Connor smiled.

“Yeah. I’ve only got a couple solid plans in place. You could stay with me too, if you want.”

“That sounds perfect.”  
“Man, this is exciting!” Mitch grinned back.

“I can see that,” Connor laughed.

“Well, it’s the first time we’ll see eachother since you punched me.”

“Have I apologized for that recently?”

“Yes. Earlier today,” Mitch laughed. “Seriously, we’re good. Don’t give me your McWorried look.”

“McWorried?!”

“Dude, your eyebrows go down and you look all-” Mitch tried to replicate Connor’s expression, but ended up in a fit of giggles.

Connor couldn’t shake his feeling of guilt.

“Seriously though, Connor, I’m glad you’re gonna visit.”

“I am too.”

“Talk details tomorrow? I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”

“Sure Mitch. Night.”

“Mmmm,” Mitch shifted, trying to get settled under his blankets. “Night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments appreciated!
> 
> as always, you can find me on Tumblr ([@minnehockey](https://minnehockey.tumblr.com/))  
> and leave me asks about these two idiots :)


	4. Chapter 4

During the last weeks of the regular season, Connor and Mitch fell into a rhythm of constant communication. Connor woke up to snaps from Mitch and fell asleep most nights having either texted Mitch or FaceTimed, even if it was just for a couple minutes. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that they had pretty much gone from zero to one hundred with their friendship, but it’s not like he minded.

Even when both of their schedules picked back up again, they still managed to keep in touch. Text threads full of stupid memes (mostly from Mitch) and random snaps got them through Mitch’s heartbreaking first round exit and Connor’s uninspiring fourth place finish at Worlds. 

It wasn’t until he was boarding a plane from Copenhagen to Toronto that Connor started to freak out a little bit. How he’d gotten through their on and off planning sessions, rearranging his summer so that he didn’t have to go back to Edmonton officially until after BioSteel camp in mid-August. He would be back for a few promotional things and to watch development camp, but otherwise, his schedule was wide open for once.

Mitch had insisted that Connor “wouldn’t have to be stuck with him the whole time”. Along with a few teammates weddings, Mitch was organizing his own charity event, of which he’d been updating Connor daily. 

Even with Mitch’s reassurances, Connor couldn’t help but feel like this was different than two friends making summer plans. He was thrilled to spend the next nearly three months with Mitch, but as he stared out the plane window, he kept turning over Leon’s comments in his head.

Had he really talked about Mitch that much rookie year? Surely he had just talked about him as much as Stromer or any of his friends from the O? 

Two hours into the flight, it was already bugging him enough that he paid for the crappy plane wifi to shoot Dylan an iMessage

**Did I talk about Marns a lot before?**

Miraculously, the typing bubble popped up almost immediately.

**Dyls: hello to u to**

**Dyls: but yeah you did why**

**Does that mean something?**

**Dyls: like what**

**I don’t know. Maybe I’m just reading into this too much.**

**Dyls: this seems like a call kinda conversation**

**Dyls: can i**

**On a plane**

**Dyls: right**

**Dyls: headed to marns**

**Dyls: bit of a last minute freak out**

**How long have you known me?**

**Dyls: fair**

Sure, Dylan was staying in Toronto, too. And sure, Mitch had invited Connor for however long he could stay. And sure, they'd talked nonstop the last month or so, but this felt different. Mitch wasn't going to just be someone on a screen, that Connor could distract himself from. He couldn't just walk away when he starting thinking about Mitch too much. 

Connor continued to message Dylan for the couple of hours, eventually moving on from the topic of Mitch once Dylan calmed him down enough. 

Maybe though, this would be okay. Being around Mitch so much might help Connor understand whatever this thing he was feeling meant. 

-

“Tell me again why you didn’t hire cleaners?” Auston asked.

“I invited you over to help, you know.” Mitch called from the hallway, slightly out of breath.

“I am helping,” Auston protested, not looking up from his phone as he rearranges himself on the couch.

“With what exactly?”

“Preventing your oncoming freak out.”

Mitch walked back into the living room, moving items around with no real rhyme or reason. “What freak out?”

“I don’t know man. You’ve been restless all day. Seems like this has to with McDavid.”

“It does not.”

“Dude, I’ve watched you move the two throw pillows you own around for the past two hours.”

“So?” Mitch replies defensively.

“So, I think him visiting is freaking you out a little bit.”

“Yeah well he’s-”

“Not going to care where you put your throw pillows.”

Mitch signed defeatedly, flopping onto the couch next to Auston. 

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t think he’s going to punch you again,” Auston smiled. “Oh, and you only have, like, ten more minutes to freak out before he gets here.”

“What?!” Mitch squawks, snatching his phone from the table. Sure enough, there was a text from Connor saying he’d be there in twenty, from ten minutes ago. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Mitch shoved at Auston’s shoulder.

“It’s not like the time would have gone faster.” Auston poorly hid his look of amusement as he stood up, causing Mitch to fall over onto a couch cushion. “Listen, man, I’ll see you when I back from Arizona. Don’t hurt yourself or McDavid in the meantime.”

-

“Uh, hi,” Connor said when the apartment door goes flying open.

“Hi,” Mitch grinned back. They stood like that for a couple of seconds, until Mitch finally moved out of the way. “I cleaned!” Mitch blurted, dragging Connor inside. “All morning. So the guest room, uh, this way, is all set.”

Connor let Mitch lead him down the short hall and put his bags in the aforementioned guest room.

“It's got a bathroom connected through there,” Mitch continued. “My room is across the hall. The living room and kitchen you saw when you walked in...that's pretty much it.”

Connor stood still in the hallway as Mitch ran through the locations of anything he could possibly need in the apartment was. Once Mitch started listing off all the food he had in the kitchen, however, Connor couldn't help but reach out and grab Mitch’s arm.

“You look good,” he found himself saying once Mitch turned around.

Mitch smiled back, “yeah?”

Connor nodded, hoping it sounded like his comment was just about the fading of Mitch’s bruising. 

Luckily, the rest of the evening wasn't so stinted and awkward. Mitch ordered delivery from a place that “mostly followed a hockey diet plan” and they lounged on the couch eating pasta straight from the container. The next morning Mitch introduced Connor to his trainer, and they were off. 

Connor barely even noticed how long he’d been in Toronto,until he was toweling off his hair from a post-workout shower and Mitch called from his room, “Hey is it cool if Stromer hangs out?” 

Stromer. Right. They'd talked about making plans. 

“Duh!” Connor yelled back.

“Okay cool!” 

And that's how they ended up sitting on the couch with Stromer, eating scrambled eggs (because Mitch could actually make those), while Dylan glanced between the two of them. 

“Alright, alright, I admit it.” Dylan set his plate down and raised his hand is mock surrender. “Marns, you managed to not kill me with your cooking...this time.”

“Hey!” Mitch protested, launching across the couch, narrowly missing Connor and the plate in his lap.

“Not fair!” Dylan practically screeched, trying to roll away from the pillow being chucked at his head. Eventually, he grabbed a hold on it and used it to smack Mitch in return.

Connor looked on, amused, and pulled out his phone to send a video on the pillow chucking unfolding in Mitch’s living room to Leon, who had made him promise to keep him updated this summer. Although, Connor was pretty sure pillow fights didn’t exactly qualify as news, he was still a bit annoyed that his teammate felt the need to keep tabs on him.

“Not the face! It’s taken enough this year,” Mitch yelled (really yelled, how he hadn’t been kicked out of his apartment building, Connor had no idea) from behind the couch. 

Dylan, not heeding Mitch’s warning, whipped around the couch and tossed a throw pillow directly at Mitch’s shocked face.

Just then, Mitch’s ringtone sounded from the table. “Truce! Truce!” Mitch giggled, scrambling over the back of the couch to pick up his phone. “Hello?...Oh, Dubas!” Mitch exclaimed, sounded mildly winded. “No, no this is a perfect time...oh, no, I uh, just finished working out.”

“Wouldn’t want your new GM to think you’re a twenty-one year old who still has pillow fights,” Dylan smirked, flopping onto the couch next to Connor, who was poorly attempting to stifle a laugh.

“Hang on, sorry it’s a little noisy here,” Mitch continued, turning around to give his friends a death glare as he left to talk in the kitchen.

Dylan glanced at the doorway, exaggeratedly checking if Mitch was truly gone, before turning to Connor.

“ _So_?”

“So?” Connor feigned innocence, trying desperately to avoid to impending conversation.

“Come on! I need deets!” Dylan shoved him, lightly.

“Did you just say deets? Who eve-”

“Stop stalling, Davo! What have you been up to this week?”

“Uh, training? We tried to cook chicken once but that was a complete disaster.”

“Not that stuff, I mean, _real_ stuff.”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” 

“Nothing’s happened.” Connor repeated.

“No sudden revelations?” 

“Nope.”

“Heart to heart conversations?”

“No!”

“Davo, buddy…”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Connor exclaimed, his words coming out with a bit more of an edge than intended.

Fortunately, Mitch walked back into the room and started up some elaborate plan to convince Dylan that as the guest, he should do the dishes, which led into another round of the pillow fight, and then a heated Chel tournament between the three of them. Everything was back to normal, through dinner and even when Dylan pulled them into a group hug before leaving. 

Pretty shortly after clearing their takeout boxes, Mitch made some joke about the pillow fights really tiring him out, and headed down the hall to his room. Connor stayed back, grabbing his phone from the charger in the kitchen.

**Snapchat from Leon**

Connor unlocked his phone and stared down at his phone, letting the timer run out on a picture of Leon looking amused with the caption “not going to protect your boy?” 

Not in the mood to deal with any more harassment over whatever his deal with Mitch was, Connor tossed his phone back onto the counter. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? Nothing had happened. Well, besides that time Connor punched Mitch. That sucked. But for unknown, stupid reason, it felt like everyone was fixated on their friendship. They were fine. They hung out like Connor did with anyone of his other friends and teammates. Sure, they’d become pretty close, but it was like that with guys you grew up playing. Leon and Dylan were just being overbearing. Mitch and Connor were fine. 

The exhaustion from the day and their earlier workout finally setting in,and Connor sighed, shuffling towards to guest room. Maybe he’d wake up tomorrow and he’d stop feeling whatever he felt about Mitch. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now that we're a little bit into the story, i'd love to hear what you think again! leave a comment or let me know on tumblr ([@minnehockey](https://minnehockey.tumblr.com/))
> 
> also i'm thinking of making a playlist to go along with this fic, so if anyone has song suggestions let me know!


	5. Chapter 5

Somehow after only a week or so of following Mitch’s routine, Connor had not only fallen into his new routine, but made tiny adjustments as well. Mitch had worried about asking Connor to leave his old trainer and changing programs, but not only did Connor take it in stride, so did Coach Noble. In fact, the two of them got along so well, Coach often spent time after their sessions to talk over drills with Connor. It was funny, how excited they got discussing workouts.

Having a close friend there everyday, working towards the same goals as Mitch, had made summer training so much more bearable. Mitch still wasn’t a fan of the early wake up calls, but hey, having Connor defending his trash taste in music and bickering over who got to play their music on the way to the gym or rink was worth it. Even so, Mitch loved his days off. They pushed it pretty hard on the weekdays, and generally left Saturday and Sunday for recovery. It was great, they were both on the same page, waking up well into the morning and eating late lunch lounging on the couch. 

Or, Mitch thought they were on the same page, until Connor came storming into his room at god knows what hour, dragging him out of bed on what would have been a perfectly unproductive Saturday morning. 

Mitch whined his way through throwing on some sweatpants and baggy sweatshirt, grabbing his keys, and sliding into the passenger seat of his truck. 

“I swear we didn’t have a workout today,” he grumbled once Connor is done throwing their equipment bags in the back and climbing into the driver’s seat. 

“We didn’t,” Connor laughed, grabbing the car keys out of Mitch’s hands.

“What?” Mitch squawked, bolting upright in his seat. “No! Turn this car around. You’re aren’t taking me anywhere at five in the morning!” 

His protests went almost completely ignored, save for the grin on Connor’s face.

“Relax. Play some more of your car ride playlist if it’ll make you happy.”

And, although Mitch knew Connor was giving him full reign of the bluetooth as a distraction, he was willing to give up on getting back home and going to bed if it meant he could blast the playlist he’s been working on for the last couple days. It wasn’t not perfect yet, but most of the time Mitch could get Connor to sing along or at least laugh at Mitch’s own singing attempts.

“So, Davo, where are we going?” Mitch questioned after a couple songs pass. “Cause this looks a lot like the drive to the rink.”

“You’ll see.”

Mitch slumped down in his seat, pouting. That didn’t last for long though, because Connor, the huge dork he is, started singing at the top of his lungs with the beginning of Don’t Stop Me Know. Mitch couldn't help but turn towards him, gaping at the sight in front of him. Connor smiled as he sang, well, screamed really, the passing yellow street lights revealing tiny crinkles in the corners of his eyes. He tapped on the steering wheel, belting out a stumbling version of the lyrics like he wasn’t driving silently 0.2 seconds ago. 

It was as that song came to an end that Mitch realized they were in fact pulling into the rink parking lot. 

“Davo, I swear, I am not skating suicides with you.”

“Oh, relax,” Connor repeated, pulling into the empty parking lot and closing the door behind himself before Mitch could protest again. 

By the time Mitch got out, Connor was already headed toward the door, skates on his stick, resting on his shoulder, and a bucket in the other hand.

“Literally no one is here!” Mitch called out.

“Grab your stick, gloves, and skates. Come on!” Connor yelled over his shoulder.

Curiosity got the best of him, and Mitch scrambled to pull grab them both from the truck bed and ran after Connor, who was unlocking the front door.

“You have keys?”

“You don’t?” 

“Okay, Mr. Mystery Man, can you tell me what we’re doing now?”

Connor was apparently oh a mission, however, and he walked right through the door, barely holding it open for Mitch before reaching over and flicking on the lobby lights. 

“Coach just said I had to open up and then we’re set for a couple hours.”

“Set for what?”

“Jesus, Mitch, have you not figured it out by now?” 

“Well, I’m sorry. I’m a little tired because _someone_ woke me up at the ass crack of dawn on my day off!” Mitch grumbled, blinking at the bright lights as Connor turned them on in the hallway and then the locker room.

“I got us the rink so we could skate together.” Connor monotoned as he dropped his stuff by one of the first stalls.

“Connor, we’ve been skating together all summer so far.”

“I know,” Connor sighed. “It’s just...okay, one of the things I try and do in the summer, and I know it might sound stupid, is a couple of times I like to just find some ice and skate. I don’t mean drills or scrimmages. I just, I guess, like to remind myself of why I do it...cheesy, I know.” 

Mitch sat in the next stall over and looked at Connor, whose eyes didn’t leave the ground. “That’s…not stupid. ” Mitch searched for the words. “You wanted me to be here?”

“Yeah. Of course,” Connor finally looked up. He said it like it was obvious and Mitch couldn’t quite place why. 

They sat in companionable silence, lacing up their skates. Then, when they were both ready, Mitch followed Connor down the hall, onto the ice. The quiet gave way to the sounds of their skates cutting through fresh ice, sticks momentarily forgotten by the bench. They skated leisurely laps, keeping pace with one another until Connor spun around to face him and Mitch couldn’t help but grin back as Connor let out a laugh. Seconds later, Connor sped away, picking up the pace. 

“Hey!” Mitch laughed, matching Connor in stride.

A few laps later, Connor slowed down and grabbed their sticks and a puck, and then they were back at it, circling smoothly as they passed back and forth. Mitch hadn’t felt this happy on this ice in a long time. Sure, he loved hockey, loved the competitiveness and the pride he felt when he played, but this was different. This felt like getting a new pair of skates for Christmas, like the first skate of the year on the lake, like coming home. Suddenly, he got why Connor did this every summer. It felt so damn good to just skate around, without the looming pressure from the league or fans. 

“Thanks,” Mitch blurted, as they slowed again.

“For?” 

“Taking me with you.”

“Yeah, uh, no problem,” Connor gave Mitch a small smile, catching his eye as they stopped along the boards by the bench, Mitch hoping up to sit while Connor leaned his weight on the door next to him.

-

It was good that Connor had dragged Mitch to the rink so early, because Mitch still had time to pack for his flight later that afternoon, for Connor Carrick’s bachelor party weekend. Mitch ran around his room, throwing things into a duffel, while Connor chilled on Mitch’s bed, occasionally looking up from his phone. 

“So, any plans while I’m out of town?” Mitch questions, realizing they never really talked about it, as he attempted to fold a shirt for the third time.

“Probably head back to Newmarket, see the family for a bit,” Connor shrugged.

“Oh, that’s right! You haven’t seen them all summer,” Mitch exclaimed, feeling a little guilty all of a sudden. “You gonna stay there for a while?”

“Just the weekend, I think.”

“Really? Cause I don’t want you to miss out on time home because of me.” 

“I’m not. I want to be back Monday. Training and whatever,” Connor said, clicking his phone off.

“Coach would understand. You could do workouts at home and only come in for skate days”

“Really, Mitch. I want to be here,” Connor stated, looking at Mitch like he did earlier today along the boards. “I’d tell you if I didn’t”

“Yeah?” Mitch replied, searching Connor's eyes.

“Yeah,” Connor leaned back against the headboard.

It’s not until Mitch was waiting in line at security, a little over an hour later that he really has time to think about his morning. They hadn’t really discussed how long Connor would be staying, but he seemed to want to stay for the summer with Mitch. On top of that, Mitch didn’t even know where to begin with their skate this morning. Connor had put all that effort in, convincing coach for keys and ice time, dragging Mitch out of bed, just so they could skate together before Mitch had to go. It was sweet, Mitch thought, his face heating a little. 

Well, that was new. Mitch felt like they had entered territory he wasn’t familiar with. Connor hadn’t been in Mitch’s life this much, even during the draft, so Mitch didn’t really have a frame of reference for what it was like to spend long amounts of time together. He did know, however, that he didn’t act the same as he did with other friends as he did with Connor. And he certainly didn't think about them as much. Connor was different. 

Mitch also knew that he needed to talk to someone about this, or he was going to explode.

Sitting in the terminal, baseball cap pulled low on his head, he opened the contacts app on his phone. He scrolled through the list, stopping over the names starting with C and, on a whim, clicking on C’s name in the list.

**hey, can we talk when I get into town?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my tumblr is [@minnehockey](https://minnehockey.tumblr.com/) for updates and such! 
> 
> School starts for me tomorrow so I can't promise a consistent update schedule, so thank you in advance for bearing with me. I'm taking a full course load, plus several extracurriculars, but I'll try my best.


	6. Chapter 6

Connor felt weird, sitting in Mitch’s apartment alone. Mitch had left for the airport a couple hours ago, leaving Connor in an apartment that felt too big, too empty by himself. 

He felt even weirder, getting into Mitch’s pickup, without Mitch in the passenger seat messing with the dials and talking a mile a minute, even though Mitch had explicitly given him permission to drive to his parent’s. It was probably pathetic, but Connor felt like something was missing. 

His parents were happy to see him, even happier when he said he was staying through tomorrow, before heading back into the city to pick Mitch up that night. Although Connor had shared his summer plans with them, it didn’t stop his mom from asking about Mitch, how he was doing, where he was for the weekend, until Connor quietly excused himself from the dinner table, claiming to be tired from training and the traffic on the drive up that morning. They let him go, but he caught a glimpse of a look between them, knowing they would talk about it later. 

Thankful, at least for the topic of Mitch and Connor’s summer plans being put aside for now, he climbed up the stairs, slipping his phone out of his pocket. 

**Snapchat from Marns (8)**

Connor slipped into his childhood bedroom, flopping onto his old bed, before unlocking the screen. He clicked through the photos, the first few various shots of airports, followed by a photo of Mitch’s meal at some upscale Chicago restaurant, and a video of him sipping a glass of wine, before making a face. 

-

Mitch wakes up without a headache, unsurprisingly, wine is not his friend, slightly disoriented by being in a hotel room in the offseason. He manages to shuffle out of bed and into the shower, slowly recollecting C’s bachelor party dinner from the night before. 

Toweling off his hair, the sound of a notification came, slightly muffled by the mess of sheets. 

**Cs: breakfast and talk before you leave?**

Somewhat regretting asking C’s for advice, Mitch texted back an affirmative, swallowed his pride, and finished getting dressed.

All throughout the rest of his hotel morning routine, Mitch couldn’t help but fret over talking to C’s. He wasn’t even sure what to tell him. _I’m freaking out because my friend is being really nice and spending the summer with me?_ Yeah, no, that sounded insane. C’s was pretty non judgmental though, with all his self-betterment philosophies and motivational books. Maybe those were why he’s more functional than Mitch, or maybe C’s is just naturally chill. Either way, Mitch could use the advice.

As his Uber pulled up to C’s apartment building, Mitch caught the driver glancing back at him, somewhat concerned, and forced himself to stop bouncing his knee. The car pulled to a stop and Mitch nearly bolted out the door, pulling his bag behind him, yelling back a “thanks, man,” instead of pleading to be taken to the airport instead. He’d sat at the airport for longer than five hours before, he’d be fine waiting around. 

Swallowing his pride for the final time, Mitch double checked the apartment number on his way up, and knocked on the door with the number C's had texted earlier. 

“Mitchy!” Connor smiled, stepping aside to let him in.

“Lexi’s out?” Mitch asked, scratching the back of his neck. He’d rather keep the audience of his crisis to one.

“Yeah, won’t be back until this afternoon,” C’s answered, eyes trying to read Mitch. “Why don’t we sit.”

Mitch glanced at the couch behind him, flopping down unceremoniously. “So.”

“So. You wanted to talk?”

“Well…”

“Felt like you should talk?” C’s corrected.

“Pretty much,” Mitch huffed out a laugh. “I just, I don’t know where to start. It’s kinda…”

“Complicated?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have to tell me any more than you’re ready to,” C’s assured, bringing his legs up to cross them on the couch. 

A car horn sounded, muffled,and Mitch glanced out the window. “I- Fuck, I don’t even know.” He let out a shaky breath, the words catching in his throat. “I, um, things were supposed to be less complicated than this.”

“With?”

Mitch shut his eyes. “Connor...Davo. It’s- I-”

After a moment, C’s let out a soft, “It’s okay.” 

And somehow, that was exactly what Mitch needed to hear and what made him break down. C’s, being the real bro his was, scooted over to Mitch and reached his arms around him. Mitch couldn’t even remember the last time he had sobbed like this, maybe when he took a short break in juniors, maybe sometime before that. 

“Have you been keeping this all to yourself?” C’s asked, leaning back.

All Mitch could do was nod, pulling his knees up to his chest once C’s sat back and sniffling, tears running as he blinked. 

“You don’t have to tell me. If you’re not ready.” 

“I-” Mitch pulled his arms around himself tighter. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“It’s okay to take time to figure things out.”

-

Connor checked his phone again, nondescript baseball cap shoved on his head and hood up. He’d begging off of dinner with his parents, claiming traffic would be bad on his way into the city. It was, but after three times circling through the pick up area of the airport, he opted for parking and waiting by baggage claim, to antsy and a bit comically early to pick up Mitch. 

He was running through all of the updates he had from the weekend, how his brother was doing, the latest antics from Stromer, and a few ideas downtown his mom had mentioned, when seemingly out of nowhere, Mitch popped in front of him, duffel slung on his shoulder.

“Hi,” Connor said, shoving his phone in his pocket and grinning like an idiot. Before he could think it through, he slid his arms over Mitch’s shoulders, tucking his head into Mitch’s neck. 

Mitch chuckled tiredly, bag slipping awkwardly to his elbow as he reflexively wrapped his arms around Connor’s waist. In the middle of baggage claim. At the Toronto International Airport. In, well, Toronto. But, fuck it, he missed Connor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave feed back here, or on my tumblr ([@minnehockey](https://minnehockey.tumblr.com/))  
> I'd love to know what you're all thinking!


	7. Chapter 7

For as much as Connor seemed to have smoothly gone back into their routine, Mitch was the exact opposite. Somehow, after he had finally vocalized his realization, his feelings, to C’s, it was almost like the beginning of the summer again. Mitch couldn’t help the feeling in his chest Connor insisted on stopping at Mitch’s favorite takeout place on the way back to the apartment or occasionally glancing over at Connor’s relaxed smile as he navigated traffic in Mitch’s truck. Like it was nothing. Like he didn’t know he was driving Mitch crazy.

In the elevator ride up from the parking garage, Mitch could hear himself mentioning how exhausting the quick trip and flight how was. Quickly, he learned that wasn’t the right move, as Connor proceeded to usher him down the hall, unlock the door, and loosely guide Mitch to his couch, setting the bags of food down.

“I’ll be back in a second, you should pick out a movie,” Connor voiced, running his hand over Mitch’s shoulder as he walked into the kitchen. 

This provided at least a short distraction, but didn’t stop Mitch from listening to Connor grab some silverware and glasses from the kitchen cabinets. 

“Found anything good?” Connor called over the sound of clinking ice cubes and water from the tap. 

Mitch scrambled for the remote, opening Netflix and hastily scrolling through the suggested titles. “Uhhhh, how does this one sound?” 

Later that night, Mitch tried to remember what they’d watched. Who the lead actress was. Whether he had eaten any of the dinner Connor had brought home. All he could remember is the waking up during the credits with his face resting on Connor’s lap, the feeling of hands running through his hair.

“This okay?” Connor had nearly whispered, looking down at Mitch, whose eyes were starting to focus. 

A few seconds pause, and Mitch mumbled out an “uh-huh,” hoping the light of the TV wasn’t bright enough to show the blush creeping up his cheeks. 

“Do you want to go to bed now?”

“Can, can we just stay here? For a little bit?” Mitch mumbled, eyes closing again.

“Yeah, okay Mitchy.”

“Mmmm,” Mitch hummed leaning into the touch against his scalp. 

And so he let himself imagine for who knows how long. Imagine a world in which he got to have this. This. Connor. Connor like this. Connor in his apartment and Connor Facetiming him after hard losses and flying out to see each other whenever either of them has a break. Goodnight texts. Sneaking one of Connor’s sweatshirts on roadtrips. 

“I should,” Mitch squeaked, pushing his thoughts away. “I should go to bed.” He sat upright, swinging his legs off the edge of the couch. 

“Oh, uh, night,” came from behind him, interrupted by the louder-than-expected noise of Mitch’s door shutting behind him. Wincing, Mitch stripped out of his pants and climbed under his duvet, begging his mind to stop racing.

-

Connor sat in the living room, staring blankly at the home screen as it softly illuminated the rest of the room.

He felt a lump in his throat, pressure rising. Something wasn’t right. Connor felt lightheaded, breath increasing and fingers shaking as he fumbled around to get his phone from his pocket.

It had been a while, a long time, since he’d been like this.

Last time it was after his injury, when he’d felt numb and then suddenly had had these fits of panic. 

This wasn’t last time.

He was fine.

“Connor?” Dylan’s voice came from the phone as Connor pulled his knees to his chest.

“I- Dyl, I-”

“It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I can’t, can’t b-”

“Hang on, Davo. Let me just-” 

Rustling sounded from Dylan’s end of the call, then the sound of lamp being clicked on.

“Connor I want you to focus on me. Do that for me, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Okay, that’s good. That’s really good, Davo.”

Connor huffed out a laugh, but pressed his ear closer to the phone, eyes darting around the room.

“I want you to tell me five different things you see. Just five.”

“Uh, yeah. Okay. Um,” Connor paused, taking a shaky breath and trying to refocus his vision. “I see an empty glass.”

“An empty glass, what else?”

“The TV remote. Uh, photo- photo frames.”

“Two more, Davo.”

And slowly Connor rattled off the rest of his lists. Old mail. Car keys. Four things he felt. The couch behind him. The tears on his face. His shirt. The hair on his neck. Three things he heard. The traffic. The air conditioning. The dryer running. Two things he smelt. The leftover Mexican food. Detergent. One thing he could taste. Salt.

Once Connor was done they remained on the phone a little while, Connor eventually moving to the guest room with Dylan’s prompting. For a while, Dylan just sat and listened to Connor’s breathing exercises, their consistent pattern. 

Eventually however, Dylan spoke up again.

“You don’t have to tell me-”

“I want to.”

“Okay.”

Connor paused, in four, hold four, out four.

“I love him.”

Connor closed his eyes.

“I know.”

Dylan’s answer hit him like a wave, washing over Connor’s exhausted body. Connor had known, in some distant way how he felt, but hearing it reaffirmed, stated like a fact, nearly caught his words in his throat.

-

The next day, Mitch tried to fall back into routine. He pushed through weights that morning, channeling all of his energy into benching and squats until he was exhausted, leaning against the wall in the gym showers. Despite his fatigue, partially due to the workout but also because he never really fell asleep last night, tossing and turning restlessly, Mitch’s thought caught up with him.

Leaning into the stream of water, letting it run over his face and chest, Mitch couldn’t help but feel bad for last night. God, Connor probably though he was so weird, running out of the room like that. But also, how could he have let himself fantasize about Connor. 

Mitch sighed, running a hand through his wet hair. This wasn’t fair to Connor. To the friendship thy had just started rebuilding. Grabbing a towel, Mitch continued to let his thoughts spiral. Mitch valued him too much, couldn’t imagine going back to how they were before, distant and impersonal. 

Pulling on a shirt, some boxer briefs and a some athletic shorts quick, Mitch threw the rest of his things into his gym bag. Slinging it over his shoulder, he realized Connor must be waiting for him out in the hall. 

Sure enough, as soon as the door was opened, Mitch was met with a soft smile from Connor, who was leaning against the wall. Mitch felt a pang in his heart, Connor’s genuine expression harder to look at than Mitch cared to admit.

Shoving his phone in his pocket, Connor stood up fully. “Ready?” Mitch nodded, forcing a smile, failing to ignore how their hands brushed as they started down the hall, Connor tapping his shoulder against Mitch’s.

No, Mitch was not ready. Nothing could have prepared him for Connor McDavid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the encouragement and kudos! I'm so so so glad to be writing again, and I've got plenty of ideas milling around in my head for future (less angsty) chapters!
> 
> Please leave feed back here, or on my tumblr ([@minnehockey](https://minnehockey.tumblr.com/))  
> I'd love to know what you're all thinking!


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